


Wanderlust

by Elsajeni



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Near-death Experiences, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What?" Bofur answers, distracted, from where he's leaning back against a pillar — he's only been half-listening, the greater part of his attention focused on picking the knots out of his hair and re-braiding it — and then, "Oh, me? No, never been much for the lasses."</p><p>"A lad, then?" Ori suggests around the stem of his pipe, and gives a sly wink that makes a sudden heat coil at the base of Bofur's spine and fills him with the urge to — well, to do quite a few things, really, and not one of them appropriate for present company.</p><p>Instead, he ties off the braid he's working on, winks back, and says cheerfully, "Why, Ori, a fellow might think you were hinting at something."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderlust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellabaloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellabaloo/gifts).



"You can't possibly be serious," Bofur says, which gets him a glare and a very rude sign from his cousin; he rolls his eyes and amends the statement, "All right, you _shouldn't_ be serious. It's mad! What is there for you in Erebor?"

 _Important_ , Bifur signs, and there's a stubborn glint in his eye that says Bofur is not going to win this argument. _Home._

"Home? You've never so much as _seen_ the Mountain!"

That gets him another glare, and Bifur's next statement is signed with exaggerated care, as if to accommodate the slow-of-thinking: _Not home for me. Home for all Khazad._

"It's a long way," Bofur says, one final try before he gives in, "and a dangerous road. You remember those years I went traveling, when I was a lad? Between the mountains, the animals, even bloody goblins — it's a wonder I got home in one piece. And even if you make it there, a _dragon_? What's that spear of yours going to do against Smaug, exactly?"

 _Important_ , Bifur signs again, with finality, and all that's left is for Bofur to sigh and say, "Fine, it's settled, then. We'll go."

Bifur's stern look cracks a bit at that, just at the very corners of his lips. _Didn't invite you._

"The thanks I get," Bofur says with a grin, and Bifur snorts and claps him fondly on the shoulder, and from there all they need do is explain it to Bombur and pack their bags.

(He's not sure whether to feel vindicated or offended when Bombur's first response is, "You can't possibly be serious.")

* * *

It's actually quite a pleasant journey, at least those first few days. The weather is fine, and the countryside is lovely, all green fields dotted with the strange, rounded shapes of the halfling villages; it helps, too, that they haven't met up with the whole party yet, so that Bofur's 'quest' thus far is just a pleasant ride with his brother and cousin.

"D'you suppose any of these little folk will remember you?" Bombur asks as they come to the edge of a village. "You passed this way before, didn't you?"

Bofur frowns, thinking. "Aye, and stayed for a week or two, up in the big town — some folk there might know me. That was near fifty years ago, though, and that's longer to a halfling than to a dwarf. If anyone does remember me, they'll be grannies and geezers by now."

"Well, I shall smile and wave at all the grannies, then, just in case," Bombur says cheerfully, and much to Bofur's annoyance, he actually _does_ , until they get near enough to the burglar's house that all of their attention must go toward finding the right turning.

Late that night, after their host has gone to bed and half of their company has followed him, Ori — and isn't _that_ a surprise, that Dori should have allowed his littlest brother to join such a quest, although perhaps it's more surprising that a bookish, timid lad like Ori should _want_ to join them in the first place — sidles up to where Bofur is leaning against the mantelpiece and asks in an undertone, "Is it really as hot as all that? Dragon's fire, I mean?"

Bofur considers, for a split second, the risk that Dori will roast him alive for scaring the lad, weighs it against the risk that they'll all be roasted alive anyway if they reach the Mountain, and says, "Aye, from all I've heard, it is. I'm sorry to have to say it — I didn't mean to frighten the poor burglar, and I don't mean to frighten you."

"Frighten me?" Ori says, with a little smirk; Bofur frowns at him, and the smirk turns into a grin as he goes on, "Why, if it's as hot as that, it's not as if you need to fear being burned — you'd be in the Halls of Waiting before you even knew there was anything to be frightened of. If anything, I should say you've brought me some comfort."

With that, he turns and walks off, presumably to bed, and Bofur is left staring after him, remembering his performance at the dinner table — _right up his jacksie_ , indeed — and considering that 'bookish' and 'timid' may not be _quite_ the right choice of descriptions for the lad.

"Best be careful," he murmurs to himself, the vision of being slow-roasted by Dori still vivid in his mind; then there's a sudden burst of noise from the kitchen, where Fili and Kili disappeared a few moments ago and are now, by the sound of it, coming to blows over the last of the sausages, and Bofur gives up on any hope of a peaceful night by the fireside and goes in search of an unoccupied bed.

* * *

Getting down off the spit — and really, he's made enough jokes about being roasted alive on this journey, but he'd imagined they'd at _least_ get as far as the Mountain first — is a bit of a scramble, but luckily Gandalf is nearby to douse the fire, and before long, Bofur, being closest to the ground, is untied and on his feet and helping the rest of them down.

"All right?" he asks Dwalin, and unsurprisingly gets only an irritated grunt in response; next down is Ori, and he tries again, "All right, are you? Not cooked through?"

"I think so," the lad says with a grin, "though I doubt I'll ever get the smell out of my shirt — just the smoke would have been bad enough, but troll on top of it! And you, you're all right?"

Bofur shrugs. "A bit singed about the whiskers, but no worse than that. And they were getting too long, anyway." Then he grins, and adds as an afterthought, "Still no fear of dragons, I hope? This hasn't put too great a dent in your courage?"

"Oh, no," Ori says, smiling back — evidently he's taken it in the spirit it was meant. "Though I can't say it wasn't a _bit_ frightening. I shan't like to sleep alone tonight, that's for certain."

Bofur bites his tongue hard enough to hurt, and very sternly tells himself, _Mind what you say. He can't be but half your age._ After a moment, he manages, "Lucky you have your brothers along, then, to look out for you," and hurries off to make sure Bombur's made it out of that sack in one piece.

He can't help stealing a glance back, though, and wondering how it is that he's never noticed before what a fine build the lad has.

* * *

"Of _course_ there are wargs," Bofur can't stop himself from muttering. "Why wouldn't there be wargs? Wargs, trolls, mad wizards... four-foot-high rabbits..."

"Shut up and run, will you?" Bombur pants from beside him, and then follows his own advice and puts on a burst of speed, which leaves Bofur trailing at the back of the pack, alongside the halfling. The two of them share a glance and a grimace, and then they're fetching up against one of the massive boulders that dot these plains — far ahead, the warg-riders are curving back toward them, and Thorin, at the front of the pack, skids to a halt and signals those behind him to stop.

Which would be fine, except that Ori _doesn't_ stop.

Bofur half-lunges forward, heart in his throat, as if he thinks he can reach the lad in time to pull him back — which is mad, of course; he's a good five yards away, and Ori's already nearly past the end of the rock, exposed to the orc-scouts' line of sight.

In the nick of time, Thorin's hand snaps up, catches Ori by the shoulder and yanks him back; Bofur lets out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and sags back against the rock beside Mr. Baggins, who looks up at him with wide eyes and hisses, "This is mad! We'll all be killed and eaten!"

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Bofur says, and in a display of _truly_ unhelpful timing, one of the orc-scouts chooses that moment to spur his warg up atop their boulder; Kili leaps forward and shoots, and only succeeds in making the damned creature scream, and in moments they're running full tilt again, this time for some cave-opening that Gandalf's spotted.

It's a bit of a drop to the cave-floor below; Bofur's one of the first to his feet, and certainly the first — other than, he supposes, the wizard — to realize where the tunnel will lead them. "Follow it, of course," he shouts back with a grin, when Dwalin calls out that he can't see where it ends, and soon enough, just as he knew they would, they step around an outcropping of rock into the valley of Rivendell.

Most of their party immediately turns to argue with Gandalf — no surprise there, really. Ori, though, takes a few steps further, gazes around in what seems like wonder, and Bofur can't help watching him, delighted at the look on his face.

Then Ori turns around, and for a moment their eyes meet; Bofur feels his face go red, and he quickly turns and joins in the argument still going on behind him.

* * *

"Ah, that was years ago, though," Nori finishes his story, leaning back on his elbows and sending up a chain of perfect smoke rings. "I left town in a bit of a hurry — used to do that a lot, back then — and the next time I passed through, I tried looking her up, only to find she'd settled down with a nice redheaded lass and opened up a butcher's shop." He yawns, shrugs, then looks around the circle and asks, "What about you, Bofur? Got a lass back in the mountains, waiting for you to come home a wealthy dwarf?"

"What?" Bofur answers, distracted, from where he's leaning back against a pillar — he's only been half-listening, the greater part of his attention focused on picking the knots out of his hair and re-braiding it — and then, "Oh, me? No, never been much for the lasses."

"A lad, then?" Ori suggests around the stem of his pipe, and gives a sly wink that makes a sudden heat coil at the base of Bofur's spine and fills him with the urge to — well, to do quite a few things, really, and not one of them appropriate for present company.

Instead, he ties off the braid he's working on, winks back, and says cheerfully, "Why, Ori, a fellow might think you were hinting at something."

That gets him a roar of laughter from Bombur and Nori, and a roll of the eyes from Bifur. Ori, though, just gives him a sharp look and says, "A fellow might _take_ a hint, for once."

The laughter stops in an instant, and for a few moments there is absolute silence around their campfire. Then Bombur, bless him, clears his throat and says a bit too loudly, "Do you know, I've just remembered, there was this... this... _something_ very interesting I noticed earlier, back where we had supper. Nori, Bifur, do come along, let me show it to you."

Nori gets the message readily enough, and he's soon on his feet and joining in trying to cajole Bifur along; eventually he agrees, too (although not before signing a stern _careful_ at Bofur), and the three of them march off, and Bofur and Ori are left alone.

"So," Bofur begins after a long pause, lining his words up with great caution; he has the sense of working on a delicate inlay, cutting and sanding and placing each sliver of wood just so and knowing that even a hair's-breadth of error will ruin the whole piece. "You... do intend to hint at something, then."

"I hardly think it counts as 'hinting' at this point," Ori says with a smile, and carefully sets his pipe to one side. Then in one swift movement he's straddling Bofur's lap, leaning in and pressing him firmly back against the pillar; there's a hand tangling in his half-braided hair, fingers sliding between the buttons of his coat, and Ori's lips are warm and soft and taste of his pipe-leaf, spicy-sweet, and for a long moment Bofur can't make himself pull away, much as he knows he ought to.

"Wait," he manages eventually, in the breathless space between kisses. "Ori — _wait_ —"

Ori pulls back at once, red-faced, and says, "If I've misjudged—"

"No, not in the least," Bofur interrupts hurriedly; normally he wouldn't be so bald, but it seems needed, and anyway, even if he were embarrassed to say it, it's compensation enough to see Ori flush even redder and try to hide a grin. "It's only—"

" _Is_ there a lad at home?"

Bofur shakes his head, and tries again, "No, I—"

"What, then?" Ori demands, rocking back on his heels with a frown. "My age? Or that it's not _sensible_? Maybe I'm _tired_ of always doing the sensible thing. Maybe I want—"

It's at about that point that Bofur sighs, leans up, and pulls him in for another kiss — a brief one, this time, and somewhat more restrained. When they break apart, he stays close, and doesn't bother trying to hide his smile as he says, "What I mean to say is, perhaps not right here."

"Oh," Ori says, and glances around at the garden — it's largely closed off from the rest of the rooms offered to the dwarves, it's true, but the arched passageway back into the main courtyard is open, and in the quiet they can hear snatches of conversation among the rest of the company. "I — yes, perhaps you're right. I don't know where else we might go, though..."

"Lucky I'm here, then," Bofur says with a grin. "It happens I know a place we won't be bothered, back near the baths. Up you get — I'll go out first, shall I, and you come after in a moment or two and catch me up."

Sure enough, the room is still there, and just as he remembers it: a private nook off the baths, where water rises from a natural spring and collects in a stony pool just large enough for two, with a soft couch to one side and a slatted wooden deck, the perfect place to dry off, to the other.

Bofur turns around, beaming, just as proud to have found the place as if he'd built it himself, and says, "Well? Will this do?"

He is not quite ready for Ori's answer, which is to kick the door closed, grab him by the lapels of his coat, and pull him in for another long, breathless kiss.

"I shall take that as a yes," he murmurs when they separate; Ori huffs a laugh into his ear and says, "It's splendid," and leans in for another kiss as he starts undoing Bofur's coat buttons with deft fingers.

* * *

"Well," Ori says, one finger tracing idle circles on Bofur's chest, "I'm certainly glad you happened to spot this room. You noticed it when they showed us the main baths, I suppose?"

Bofur yawns and reaches up to lay one hand over Ori's, trapping it over his heart. "In a way," he says. "I was reminded of it then — I'd about forgotten. This isn't the first time I've passed this way, you see."

He can see the puzzled frown that suddenly settles on Ori's face, and almost laughs out loud at it; instead, he reaches up to tug at a braid and asks, in his most innocent voice, "What, don't you believe me?"

"You're smiling too much for me to believe you," Ori answers, and rolls to face him, lets his head rest on Bofur's shoulder. "I've noticed that. You always smile when you're lying."

"And nearly always when I'm telling the truth, too," he defends himself. "And _certainly_ always when I have a fine lad like you in my arms. A smile's no sort of proof at all."

Ori grins. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose."

"Is it so surprising, that I should have done some traveling when I was young?"

That gets him a shrug. "Some traveling, no. But that you should have passed through an elven palace, and spent enough time there to remember its rooms years later? That, I simply can't believe."

"Mmm." Bofur yawns again — _Half-asleep already_ , he thinks, drowsy and amused at himself for it, _I'm not so young as I was_ — and shifts his shoulder, pulls Ori in tight against his side. "And yet here we are, in this room I can't have known existed. I suppose you have a better explanation?"

"I'll think of one." Ori's halfway to drifting off, too, to judge by his voice, and it seems he's realized the same; he sits up suddenly, shakes his head as if to clear it, and says, "Mercy, it must be late. We'd best get back — we'll be missed soon enough, and I for one wouldn't like Dori to come looking for us."

That old image of Dori roasting him alive springs back vividly into Bofur's mind, and he sits up, too, leans across Ori to search through the heap of clothing they abandoned there. "Quite right," he says firmly. "Nor — oh, these are yours — nor would I."

"For one thing," Ori says, and stands up to pull on his breeches, "he would _absolutely_ forbid me from doing it again."

Bofur freezes for a moment at that, his shirt half over his head, and thinks, _I really must have been born under a lucky sign._

* * *

The giant they're clinging to — and isn't _that_ a mad thing to have to think — stumbles forward, and seems to lose its footing, and suddenly the cliffside is looming in front of them and there's no sign of their fall slowing anytime soon. Bofur grimaces, and grabs at an outcropping of stone; beside him, he can hear Dwalin bellowing something, though he can't make out what; then they're nearly upon the cliffside, and he thinks, _Nothing for it, then,_ closes his eyes, and jumps.

Apparently they've all had the same idea; he lands half on a rocky ledge and half on a heap of other dwarves, and a moment later someone else lands on top of him. He can still see the giant's leg looming above them and braces himself, waits for it to fall; then there's a sound of grinding, shattering stone, and the whole thing splinters just above the knee, and falls backwards instead.

For a moment they're all quiet, catching their breath; then Ori struggles to his feet, and offers Bofur a hand up, and as the others are grumbling and hauling themselves up behind them, he takes the opportunity to catch Ori by the shoulders and pull him in for a moment's embrace.

Ori leans into him, just for a split second, and lets out a shaky little laugh; then he stiffens suddenly, and pulls back, and says in an undertone, "Watch it — Dori—" and sure enough, there's barely enough time for them to separate before the rest of the company appears around the corner, Thorin in the lead and Dori, at full sprint, close behind him.

"Right," Bofur mutters, and turns back to help Bombur up, and only then notices that there don't seem to be enough people on this ledge — _Oh, hammer and tongs,_ he thinks, and bellows, "Oi! Where's Bilbo?"

* * *

Bofur tries to look on the bright side: at least, with all of them now weighing down the branches of one tree, there's less risk of Gandalf burning half the company to a crisp with his pinecones.

It's not much of a bright side, to be honest — the flames are still creeping closer to the base of their tree, and should it catch, well, there's nowhere to go but down.

Then there's an ominous creaking sound from the roots, and the tree sways and tilts madly, and the whole question of what the bright side of this might be is forgotten as Bofur fumbles for a grip on branches that are suddenly sideways.

"Bombur!" he shouts, half-panicked, as soon as he's found his balance, and cranes his neck to look. What he finds makes him almost dizzy with relief: Bombur is safe, or as safe as can be in the circumstances, having caught a branch under each arm and even managed a shaky toehold on one of the trunk's great burls, and Bifur has somehow ended up close by him, face-down on a long branch with his arms and legs locked tightly around it.

Bofur closes his eyes for a moment, and fights to slow his racing heart; his brother and cousin are all right for the moment, better balanced in fact than he is himself, and fear won't solve a thing. Then he opens them again and looks around, this time with an eye toward all of the company, not only his kin. He finds the halfling quickly enough, back near the base of the tree; Fili and Kili, close by each other as always; Nori, on the opposite side of the trunk, his gaze fixed over Bofur's shoulder on something up near the treetop — and Bofur sees the fear in his eyes and thinks, _Ori, where is Ori_ , suddenly frantic again, and when he twists round and spots the lad, dangling from his brother's boot and even from this distance visibly white with fear, it's as if he's taken a hammer-blow to the gut.

 _If I can get to them—_ He tries, strains to pull himself up atop his branch, but it's no use. There's nothing to be done, not from where he hangs; he can only watch, and pray, and try to stifle the unbidden thought _Hammer and tongs, even if Ori can hold on, if Dori's grip should go..._

Then Dori's grip _does_ go, and Bofur feels as if his heart may stop then and there. It almost seems to happen slowly — Dori's hand slipping, an inch at first, and then further; both of them crying out as they start to fall, and Nori's hoarse shout from beside him — and then Gandalf moves in a flash, and jabs downward with his gnarled staff, and an instant later Dori's caught hold of it and hangs there, swinging, Ori somehow still clinging to his ankles.

Bofur tries once more to climb higher among the branches, perhaps to make it to the trunk — even if he can't reach them, pull them back to safety, surely there's _something_ he can do, some way to help. This time it almost seems to be working — he's able to get one arm over the branch, at least, and to shuffle himself a few inches closer to the trunk — and then there's a bellow from behind him, he twists to look, and he's still looking that way when he hears the twin screams, and the shouts of horror from those closer to the treetop, and knows even before he turns back that it's too late, that they're gone.

Then, _then_ , the sky is suddenly dark with vast wings, one dwarf after another plucked from the branches and carried off on a feathered back, and as an enormous eagle's talons close gently around him, all Bofur can do is curse the beasts for not arriving just half a moment sooner.

They fly for what seems like ages before the eagles drop them, one and two at a time, on a tall rocky outcropping. Bofur lands on his hands and knees, and stays there, only dimly aware of the commotion around him; all he can think of is that room in Rivendell, Ori's head resting warm against his bare chest, and his stupid, _stupid_ fear of what the rest of their company might think — _You old fool, you craftless idiot, what you might have had, and now..._

Then there's a hand around his arm, hauling him upright. It's Bifur, ignoring his protests and giving him a firm shake by the shoulders, and when he finally raises his head Bofur realizes he's being spoken to, the same sign again and again: _Look. Look._

He does look, and for a moment can't believe what he's seeing — another eagle, the biggest he's seen yet, seeming to stall in midair just above them, and sliding down from its back and onto the rock is first Dori, and then Ori just behind him.

It's only when Bifur's grip tightens on his elbow, pulling him backward, that he realizes he's started toward them — because, yes, Ori certainly _looks_ unharmed (if a bit shaky still), but how can he be certain of it without holding him, feeling the lad's warmth and solidity in his arms? But Bifur's right, of course; Dori already has a tight grip on Ori's shoulders, and Nori has one arm around each of them, and even if it weren't crystal-clear that he'd be intruding on their family, there's still the question of Dori finding out what's between them. So he hangs back, and lets Bifur draw him into an embrace instead, Bombur worming his way between them after a moment, and by the time Thorin staggers to his feet and throws his arms around the halfling, all three of them are calm enough to join in the ragged cheer that goes up.

* * *

He's kept a close watch on Ori, all the way down the narrow cliffside path and across the fields and through their raucous supper in the bear-man's hall, in the hope of finding a chance to, well, to do _something_ — to brush past him and sneak a squeeze of his hand, or whisper into his ear, or anything, really, that might help settle the worry still tight in his throat. There's no such opportunity, though; the lad's brothers stay very close, not that that's any surprise, and Bifur, too, keeps putting himself in the way, apparently having decided it's his responsibility to keep Bofur from disgracing himself.

Eventually the company begins drifting off to the bedrooms — the halfling goes first, bidding them all a cheerful goodnight, and that seems to set off an avalanche of yawning and stretching among the dwarves, and before long Bofur is the last one left in the great hall.

He settles close by the fire, laying out his bedroll to use as a sort of couch, and digs out his pipe from the bottom of a pocket — he's down to the very last of his leaf, but there's enough for one last smoke, at least — and is half-through packing the bowl when there's a creak of floorboards from the corridor, and when he looks up he sees that it's Ori, standing half in the doorway and watching him.

Bofur is on his feet and across the room in an instant, gathering Ori tightly into his arms, breathing in the warmth and the scent of him and feeling the tension and worry in his chest finally ease; he knows he ought to say something, offer some comfort or at the very least try to make a joke of it, but he can't seem to find his voice.

Eventually Ori laughs, a little muffled by Bofur's shoulder, and pulls out of his grip far enough to say, "Well, at least I know you're glad to see me."

"I thought I'd never get you alone," Bofur says, and manages a half-smile, and then leans in for a kiss, slow and gentle and deep; when they finally break apart, he stays in close, his forehead resting against Ori's, and goes on, "It's a wonder your brothers let you out of their sight."

Ori snorts at that. "They didn't, not willingly. I had to wait 'til they were both asleep — and they took long enough, too. Dori wouldn't even shut his eyes until I pretended _I'd_ fallen asleep."

"Seems like a lot of trouble just to come and see me," Bofur says, and this time his grin is wide and genuine. "I'd have just gone to sleep, in your place."

"I couldn't," Ori says earnestly, and leans in again to rest against his shoulder. "I close my eyes, and all I can think of is — well—" His voice trembles, and Bofur can hardly bear it; he tightens his embrace again, and buries his face in Ori's hair, and stays that way until at last Ori says into the collar of his shirt, "Can I sit with you a while? And talk about... well. Anything but trees and bloody eagles, really."

Bofur smiles, and gives him a last squeeze before letting go. "Come along over by the fire," he says, and leads the way.

They settle on his bedroll, Bofur cross-legged with his back to the wall and Ori, somewhat to his surprise, lying down so that his head rests in Bofur's lap. "Tell me," he says, reaching up to catch one of Bofur's hands, "a bit more about your traveling. It must have been quite some time ago — I don't remember a time when your shop back home wasn't open."

"Oh, so you've decided you believe me?" Bofur teases, and twists his hand out of Ori's grip, settling it in the lad's hair instead. "No, you're right — it was fifty years ago, give or take, so you'd only have been a wee thing."

Ori yawns and stretches, and asks, "And where did you go?"

Bofur gives a little shrug. "Everywhere I could, really. I just wanted to see a bit more of the world, and I figured, well, folks everywhere could use a carpenter, so I packed up a wagon and started east."

"To Rivendell."

"Well, not straight away," Bofur says with a laugh. "I stayed a week or two in the halfling villages, not so far from Mr. Baggins' place, and then went on from there — followed more or less the same roads we've taken on this journey, really. I thought I'd make for a pass through the mountains and turn south on the other side, and see the great cities of Men away down by the sea, and I'd never have ended up among the elves if a storm hadn't blown up and sent me into that same tunnel we found, looking for shelter."

"Mmm," Ori says — he's half-dozing already, by the sound of his voice. "And they didn't chase you right back out? The elves, I mean?"

"Now, that's not fair," Bofur says, and lets his fingers run through Ori's hair, tugs gently at a braid. "No, they were welcoming enough, and paid well for a bit of carving, though I don't doubt they have woodworkers of their own that could have done it. Here, shift your head, my leg's going to sleep—"

"Only if you keep combing my hair," is the drowsy response, though Ori does cooperate, rolling onto his side and letting the weight of his head rest in a different spot. "It sounds wonderful, though — traveling around, seeing so many new places — d'you think you'll go back someday? After Erebor, I mean, when we're all rich as lords?"

Bofur is quiet for a long moment, listening to the crackle of the fire and toying idly with Ori's hair. "Ah, I don't know," he says eventually, with a shake of his head. "I've already been everywhere, really — seen every place I care to see. I don't see any need to go off away from home, just to see them again."

"Mmm," is Ori's only answer — he's clearly close to sleep now, his eyes closed and his hand relaxed where it rests on Bofur's knee.

Still, Bofur waits to hear the first quiet snore before adding, his voice low and soft, "Now, showing them places off to my lad — that, I think I might like to do."

**Author's Note:**

> With infinite thanks to my no-longer-anonymous beta, [leaper182](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182), who was a real lifesaver.


End file.
